


One-sided Conversation

by dagonst



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Semi-Public Sex, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-05 23:58:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5395052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dagonst/pseuds/dagonst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time it happened, Steve thought: if that's what it takes to bring Bucky home.  Instead he got the Winter Soldier, who won't be brought anywhere and probably only comes back for the sex.  It's a start.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Minimal plot, some angst, mostly ill-advised sex.

The Winter Soldier steps out of nowhere. Steve should have heard him walking down the alley he stepped out of, or breathing while he waited to ambush. But that’s how it is now: when he’s not standing right in the line of sight, Bucky may as well not exist.

Bucky doesn’t exist even then, if Steve’s going to face facts. It’s not Bucky who blocks his path, not Bucky who feints until he can shove him into the dark of the alley. It’s the Winter Soldier, with his pale, blank face and dead eyes. Combat gear, the usual compliment of visible weapons. Steve shoves him back, pins him to the wood fence at the far end of the alley. It rocks back, starts to give way and the Soldier ducks out of Steve’s slack grip. When he turns around, the Soldier’s attention is on the fence. It holds, at more of an angle before. Steve pushes the Soldier against the wall instead, hard enough to drive the breath out of his lungs.

“Where the hell did you come from this time?” The Soldier doesn’t answer - he never does and Steve’s gotten used to making one-sided conversation. “Can’t see you getting that arm through airport security.” Somehow he did, though. Steve flew to Europe two weeks ago, poking around the edges of HYDRA’s strongholds in the southeast. Now he sighs. “You want to do this here?”

There’s some privacy, from the length of the alley. And that fence won’t be any problem if they get blocked in. Fire escape. The Winter Soldier prioritizes exit routes over most things. Walls. Lights. Clean floors. Steve has tried to explain the advantages of a real bed and running water, but it hasn’t sunk in yet. “Okay,” he says, as though Bucky’s actually replied. Steps closer, to pin the Soldier with his body, free up his hands. The Soldier tilts his face up.

Steve continues his inventory. Same uniform, pristine. All weapons present as far as he can see. No smell of gunpowder, or anything much. Hair still long and unkempt, but he’s shaved today. It’s been three weeks since he saw Bucky last, in New York. Nine months since the first time. 

Steve doesn’t know why Bucky turned and fought, that first time. Maybe he had just gotten tired of being tracked. He came at Steve when he could have vanished. Steve had wrestled him down. Pinned him and wondered if he’d have to to choke Bucky half to death again to bring him in. Bucky rolled up against him, trying for purchase, and then stopped still. His face didn’t change, but he stopped struggling. Steve realized how close they were, what might have happened, and thought: if that’s what it takes. Bucky - the Soldier - had fought his way free and run. But then he’d come back. 

Cold metal against his spine makes Steve start. The Soldier’s started pulling Steve’s shirt loose, brushed him with the metal arm. Watching his face. Bucky’s no good at eye contact these days, but he watches for reactions, during sex and their increasingly prefunctory fights. Steve smiles before Bucky’s eyes dart away. “It’s good,” he says. “You’re good.” He has no idea if Bucky’s current on American slang. There’s a lot he doesn’t know. He’s fairly sure Bucky hasn’t been frozen again since the helicarriers, but the rest is guesswork. 

The Soldier’s uniform is harder to get loose, all buckles and kevlar panels. Steve has to wonder if he has someone to put him into it. If he has handlers, still, if that’s why he’s - after nearly a year - still so far from the world. Every time he’s shown up, it’s been near a known or suspected HYDRA base. Either all the Soldier does is chase HYDRA, or Bucky still _is_ HYDRA. 

Maybe distracting Steve is his new mission. He’s doing a good job at that. Meeting like this can’t be doing him much good. Probably Steve shouldn’t be doing it at all - probably it will go bad if Bucky ever does start remembering. Steve worries, more than anything, that Bucky’s only doing what he thinks Steve wants. But he doesn’t do most of the things Steve asks for: Bucky to come home, to just meet him at his hotel, to answer any question at all. Bucky only answers by glaring, or shuts him up with a kiss or a metal hand over his mouth. It’s Bucky who keeps coming back. Bucky who shoves him away when he doesn’t like something. When he doesn’t want more. He usually wants more. 

Steve pushes Bucky back for a second, holding his shoulders to show he doesn’t want him off. Bucky looks murderous anyway. “I’m going to suck you.” He waits a beat for a reaction that doesn’t come, before dropping to his knees. If Bucky doesn’t know what that means, he’ll figure it out. He’s gotten Bucky’s cock free already, three layers and a zipper ripped apart. That won’t last, will heal itself overnight. 

Bucky’s full hard already when Steve slides his hand down to the base of his cock, licks up the length of it. He can feel the jolt, the sharp intake of breath. The Soldier is sensitive to touch - just as well, considering touching him is next to impossible. Head, face, hands, anything else he has to pry through armor to get at.

Bucky leans back, his hands flat against the wall - fingers splayed, then starting to dig in. His left hand will only gouge the brick, but - Steve reaches up to cover Bucky’s right hand with his, to remind him it’s still skin and bone. Bucky grabs onto him instead, grips hard. Thrusts into Steve’s mouth, and Steve holds him still to taste him, thorough as he can, and then sucks. And as he moves on Bucky’s dick, mouth and hand, Bucky’s making little noises, bitten-off gasps, until he spills, sudden, into Steve’s mouth. 

Steve sits back on his heels, looks up at Bucky. He’s still got a grip on Steve’s hand that’s just short of crushing, head tipped back. Steve could sketch him like that - the clean line of his throat, his mouth fallen half-open. Unguarded. 

The moment ends when the Soldier realizes that Steve’s staring at him, or that Steve’s not doing anything useful. The Soldier is... efficient, is the nice way to put it. He hasn’t worked out that speed and accuracy are not always the goal. So he glares down at Steve for sitting there, doing nothing. Steve looks back, unrepentant. “You’re beautiful, you know.” And he still has Steve’s hand, loose at his side like he’s forgotten it. Steve tugs a little, but Bucky doesn’t let loose, so he only makes a half-hearted effort with the Soldier’s fastenings before reaching for his own belt.

But the Soldier yanks up on his hand, so Steve gets to his feet. That must be what Bucky wanted: he lets go. Steve’s still hard, aching at the constriction of his jeans, but Bucky swats his hand away, waits to see what Steve’s going to do about it. “Gonna give me a hand here, pal, or are you trying to kill me?” A corner of Bucky’s mouth twists and he pushes Steve back against the far wall, leg between Steve’s so Steve can rub against him. “Not enough,” Steve gets out. Bucky shifts so he’s leaning against Steve just on one side, getting his right hand free to manage Steve’s buckle.

Slides his hand in to jerk Steve off. He doesn’t look at Steve even now. Looks down instead, at Steve’s cock. The task at hand. Steve pulls him in, until Bucky’s head rests against his shoulder. Strokes through Bucky’s hair, feels Bucky exhale in something like a sigh. “That’s good. I’m close - Bucky -” And he comes, caught between the Winter Soldier and a brick wall. His orgasm clears everything for a second, maybe two, and Bucky holds him up against the wall until he remembers he ought to be doing that himself. Bucky zips his pants, wipes his hand on them. He’s not fussy about the condition of Steve’s clothes either. Steve doesn’t have to be anywhere later, so he doesn’t complain this time. When Bucky steps back he’s going to leave again, and they both know it. 

“I have a room,” Steve tries. Bucky stares past him. He smiles, crooked. “What, you got a date or something?” He looks the Soldier over, finds him more or less back in order. But if Bucky does have handlers that keep him clean and fed and in fresh uniforms, they’ve got to wonder when the Winter Soldier comes back to them with buckles torn free, welts sucked into his pale skin, lips red. Bucky doesn’t seem to notice. And if he doesn’t have handlers, then he might as well stay with Steve tonight.

Bucky barely moves - if Steve hadn’t been watching for any response at all, he’d have missed the slight shake of his head. He’s saying no - but he’s answering a direct goddamn question, which is amazing enough. 

Steve’s never been able to help pushing his luck. “Room 141.” Since he tracked Steve here, he probably already knows the hotel. “Here’s a key, if you change your mind.” He’d picked a Western chain with the new electronic locks, where they don’t mind people losing keys. Bucky looks at the piece of plastic like he’s never seen one before. He has, it’s not the first time Steve has invited him in. 

Steve brushes Bucky’s hair back from his face, sweeping it back and following the curve of his ear down. Bucky opens his mouth, closes it again with a trace of a frown. Steve does it again, traces down his jaw. Across his lips. Then leans in to kiss where his fingers had touched.

Bucky lets Steve roll him back against the wall and keep kissing him. Raises his hand to wrap an arm around Steve’s waist. Steve steps back before Bucky can pull him in, and Bucky’s eyes snap open - wide, then narrow. “I’ll see you soon,” Steve tells him. And walks away. 

It’s a gamble. The Soldier always starts these things, and he’s the one who leaves. But used to be, Bucky - and the Winter Solder is Bucky - liked things that felt good. Liquor, women. Not to the point of ruin, but if he couldn’t see the harm in it, he’d go ahead. When Bucky doesn’t shoot him in the back, Steve thinks he might have been right. Maybe Bucky will sulk for a while before he turns up again, or - just maybe - he’ll decide there’s no harm in coming to finish what he started. And then Steve can figure out what it will take to get him to stay.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time it happened, Steve thought: if that's what it takes to bring Bucky home. The Winter Soldier doesn't want Steve's help, but he does want Steve - and that's almost enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be a one-shot, but Steve is persistent. A little more plot, still mostly smut.

Steve last saw Bucky alive twelve days and fourteen hours ago. Then he’d gotten a call from one of Natasha’s channels.

There had been a safehouse, found with the hidden door wide open. Steve got the call because he was nearby. The Winter Soldier had been there: lockbox full of Soviet-era supplies, a pile of clothes next to the bare bed, empty can of soup, soap and a razor at the sink. He’d stopped here, cleaned up, gone out - to find Steve - and someone else found the place. 

There’s no sign of a fight, nothing broken. They opened the place up and tagged it, left it for the Winter Soldier to find. They spray-painted a skull on the wall above the cot. Hydra’s symbol, or maybe a pirate flag - the painter was sloppy. Left it for the Winter Soldier to find. When he did, he abandoned the place and everything he’d had there.

But they must have known who they were hunting. And if they knew that, they would have known better than to play games with the Winter Soldier. So they’d have hit him fast, before he even got in the building. Left the skull and the rest as a message for Steve that his friend was finally gone. Steve worries over each possibility in turn. 

He’d found something in that room that can’t be anything but personal. On the floor next to the bed, mostly hidden by the pile of clothes and the foot of the bed. The Soldier had kept all those hotel key-cards Steve gave him, put them in a neat stack on top of a folded flier for the Captain America museum exhibit in Washington. 

It doesn’t tell Steve what’s going on in the Soldier’s head. It doesn’t mean he’s Bucky. But they are souvenirs - objects associated with good memories. With what the Soldier wants to remember, Steve corrects himself. Either way: with him. It’s so hard not to hope.

The key Steve gave him last wasn’t in the stack, so he extended that room another two weeks. Natasha didn’t have anything else, and he couldn’t sit still that long - stayed two more days, then started moving. Paris, then London, then Amsterdam. Three days in each city, long enough if the Soldier wants to find him.

But he hasn’t, so Steve checks into another hotel - Leipzig, circling east - and goes out to walk.

He didn’t expect that he’d find Bucky first. Stepping off a bus, his face lit by headlights for just a second. He’s dressed normally, his hair pulled back, hands in his pockets. Turns to walk towards Steve, and for a few seconds it looks like it’s going to be easy, just getting Bucky’s attention as he passes.

But Bucky sees him before that, and Bucky bolts. Right into the street, and Steve goes after him. He catches the Soldier going up a building and follows, down a line of rooftops until Bucky isn’t ahead of him anymore. Down the wall, or down the stairs into the building. The stairwell is silent. Steve starts down. He doesn’t try to be quiet, or even fast - but he wishes for his shield. He isn’t sure he’s right until he turns, and the Soldier is waiting on the next landing. Steve walks down the last flight.

“Someone’s hunting you. Who?” 

The Soldier doesn’t answer, starts like he might start running again, and Steve’s suddenly tired of it. Grabs him and shoves him against the landing wall. His left arm hits the stand of pipes in the corner, and the whole stairwell echoes. They both freeze, and then Steve lets go, backs off. The soldier stays leaning against the wall. 

“I know you’re in trouble. Please let me help you.” Bucky looks him dead in the eyes. He’d done that on the helicarrier, when Steve needed to get past him and he wouldn’t move. Steve wonders for the first time what the Winter Soldier would have done if he had backed down. 

He can’t walk away now either. Maybe if he reframes it, maybe it will get through the Winter Soldier’s paranoia. “You saved my life. In Washington, when the helicarrier crashed. I know you did. I owe you.” He steps back onto the landing. The Soldier comes at him; he pivots them into the other wall and then they’re kissing with bruising force. He needs this, after wondering for two weeks if Bucky was lying dead in a basement he might never find. 

Bucky’s alive now, hand tangling in his hair, and the metal one around Steve’s waist, pulling him in close. Alive and responsive. Predictably, he yanks Steve’s belt open. Steve catches his hand. “Too loud.” They’re going to make some noise even without the Soldier talking. Anyone in the stairwell could hear.

The Soldier pushes him back and starts down the stairs. There’s enough room for them to walk side by side, and the Soldier keeps a hand on the small of Steve’s back to guide him. It reminds Steve of Bucky showing girls around, back in the day. Only the Soldier’s stopping barely short of pushing him down the stairs - Bucky probably never did it that way.

Another two levels down, the Soldier opens the door. Administrative floor, it looks like. An office with all the lights out, and then a gym. Not a big new one - but weights, machines, treadmills. “Nice place.” 

The Soldier drops his hand and walks past Steve, further into the gym. He’s scouting, Steve realizes. He hadn’t planned to come in here, or hadn’t planned to bring Steve with him. He flips on the lights to a side room, first half, then full strength. Steve has an agenda in mind by the time he turns back: get him naked, make damn sure he’s not injured. Take advantage of how they’re both alive, and have the place to themselves. And the thing that’s always on the list: get Bucky to come in for good. 

The Soldier retreats from the doorway, and Steve follows like always. It’s an open room, mirrors down one wall, mats and small weights. Door at the far end. Steve flicks one of the switches off again, so it’s less like a wrestling match. 

“I want to see you naked.” 

The Soldier’s hands go to his jacket so quick, Steve’s afraid he’s taken it as orders. Catches his hands. “If you want to. Wait. Only if you want.” The Soldier twists his hands free, moves Steve’s up to his own throat. He’s being efficient again. Steve strips fast, down to undershirt and briefs, so the Soldier doesn’t get _efficient_ with clothes he’s going to need to get back to the hotel. 

Then he looks at Bucky, already down to nothing despite having laced-up boots to start with, and frowning at him. No obvious wounds; the scars circling his left shoulder pink, irritated - he could have pulled something climbing the wall, or it’s something older and healing. Thin, but thinner than last time? 

The Soldier lets him look. Looks Steve over too, the same way Steve’s looking at him. For damage. There isn’t any, but he takes his time. Or maybe he doesn’t know the next move. “Thank you for waiting for me,” Steve says. Steve knows what the Soldier usually wants - fast, hard, and gone. He could have done that in the stairwell, or the hall. This is something new, or it might be. And if Steve guesses wrong, the Soldier will spook. Steve offers his hand instead. “Show me what to do.” 

He turns away, stalks to the door and back again to grab Steve’s hand. Turns his wrist, and laces their fingers together, careful. On impulse, Steve raises Bucky’s hand with his, kisses the back of it. The Soldier releases a breath Steve didn’t notice he’d been holding in a huff, almost a laugh. “Wasn’t a joke. Unless you thought it was funny.” But he can’t quite smile.

The Soldier shrugs, untangles their hands, and walks away. Steve waits while he throws a couple gym mats down, kicks them into place. That’s promising. It’s also vulnerable. Naked, lying down. The Soldier isn’t going to like that much, Steve thinks. If the Soldier could get off with all his armor on, that’s how he would do it. Quick hand-jobs are the next best thing.

Then the Soldier comes for him. That is the right word for it - it’s unnerving - thrilling - when he _focuses_. In the armor, the Soldier’s slow, deliberate advance reminds Steve of the way they used to walk into combat. Without it, he looks like a predator. The Soldier pushes him back against the wall, to pick up where they left off before. 

The metal hand down Steve’s back makes him shiver - and the way he unerringly finds the three small indentations from the entry wounds. Steve doesn’t have much time to think about whether the Soldier remembers those shots, because Bucky pulls his briefs away and wraps his hand around Steve’s cock. Steve catches his breath. “Hang on - hold on. We’ve got time, remember? Don’t need to rush.”

Steve can’t read the Soldier’s face, but he lets Steve pull him down to the mats he’d shoved together, to lie on his side, close in. Steve doesn’t want to mark him, not this time, just - see. Touch him, as long as he’s allowed. Bucky gets impatient in less than a minute - rolls Steve onto his back, and pins his hands. 

He stops like that, though, pushes himself back instead. Steve follows, catches the Soldier to stop him getting any further. “This is good too. Like this. Slow.” 

If they were going slow, the old fashioned way, they’d still be dressed, sitting on a threadbare sofa. He’d walked in on Bucky a couple times, and had the benefit of Bucky’s advice - how to kiss a girl until she got worked up, and then she’d let you know to get on with it. 

Which means, Steve realizes, that he’s wearing the skirt this time. Of course the Soldier’s ready - has been since he stopped running, stopped fighting. And now he’s keeping most of his weight on the metal arm, holding off. So Steve pushes him closer - not insisting, but showing ready. “It’s okay, I’ve got you. Whenever you want.” He pushes his leg up, and the Soldier takes the hint and presses back, grinding against him. Steve could make it quicker if he could get a hand in there, but the Soldier’s not looking for efficiencies, acting on blind instinct, and Steve urges him on every way he can. He makes a choked sound when he comes, face pressed against Steve’s shoulder. 

When the Soldier skims a hand down his side, it’s perfunctory. Steve’s way was better, and he’s about to tell Bucky so when the Soldier grabs Steve’s cock at the base, and then swallows the rest of it. “Jesus Christ,” Steve manages. 

The Soldier may not be skilled at suck-jobs - Steve would be worried if he did know all the tricks the internet talked about - but he’s thorough. Steve props himself up on his elbows to watch, to keep the Soldier’s unkempt hair from falling into his face. The Soldier did work out that teeth aren’t involved - a small mercy. Otherwise, the Soldier is relentless. Steve doesn’t last long - tries to warn the Soldier, but as usual he doesn’t pay a damn bit of attention.

“Hey, come here,” Steve suggests, between breaths. Bucky coughs, wiping his mouth. “Up here.”

The Soldier looks up. Lets Steve pull him back down. 

Speculation about how the serum had affected sexual abilities had started within hours of the procedure, and never really stopped. The truth was, Steve had never come close to finding out. His ability to entertain himself is the limiting factor; masturbation gets boring before it even starts to wear him out. And with company, there are better things to do than endurance tests.

Tonight he’s got the Winter Soldier for company. The Soldier won’t hold up his end of a conversation, and treats sex like a speed race already. Steve grins. “Want to see how long you can keep going?” 

He doesn’t get an answer in words, but it holds the Soldier’s attention. And Steve’s too - coaxing human reactions out of the Soldier feels like a worthwhile endeavor, even simple physical responses. It doesn’t make him Bucky, Steve knows that. But like this, flushed, biting his lip to keep quiet when he comes - looking at Steve after, dazed, and reaching for him again - Like this, he’s a living man, not the ghost HYDRA tried to make of him. 

The Soldier pulls him in back to front, down on their sides, hooks a leg over his - pinning him, not unpleasantly. Steve hums at the light, teasing brushes down his side, his chest. For a second, he thinks the Soldier has finally caught on, but no - “Cheat. You’re stalling.” The hand stops. “Please don’t stop.” 

The mouth pressed to his shoulder moves, Steve can imagine a smile. He elbows the Soldier in the ribs, light, and the arm around his waist tightens. It’s good tactics. It’s - good, surprisingly good. Being touched; being held. It’s been a long time - Steve catches the Soldier’s hand. “Sorry,” he says. “Sorry.” He guides it down, and the Soldier takes the point. Strokes him off at an even pace, and that’s enough to keep Steve from thinking about how miserable all this is. That’s for later; tonight he’s just glad to have found him. The Soldier doesn’t move away immediately; Steve reaches back to touch his hair. “Thank you.”

The Soldier lasts a couple rounds after that. It’s not clear to Steve what the limiting factor is. Maybe just, too much. The Soldier still reaches for him, but stops at that. A kiss - another cheat, the Soldier’s mouth opening under his. “Last time, Buck. You can do it.” Bucky responds to his hands, to his mouth. Bucky strokes his hair, light, while Steve pulls one last orgasm out of him.

The Soldier rolls onto his back, sprawling on the mat, his shoulder not quite touching Steve’s. When Steve starts to get up, the Soldier grabs his arm, tugs. “You’re gonna be sticky in the morning,” Steve says. They’re both a mess. The Soldier doesn’t seem to care, his eyes only a glimmer under his lashes. “Suit yourself, then.” Steve turns on his side instead, slings an arm across Bucky’s chest. He’ll be sticky too. “Get some sleep. I’ll take first watch.” Mostly what he’s watching is Bucky, holding his breath and holding still until the Soldier starts to relax.

* * *

Steve wakes with a start. Later, but how much? The clock reads five.

“Buck. We gotta get out of here. Bucky.” The Soldier rolls away with an indistinct sound that doesn’t amount to anything. Steve flicks the lights up. “It’s Tuesday. What time does this place open?”

Bucky finally sits up. He stares at Steve like he dropped out of the sky. “I followed you here,” Steve reminds him. “Last night. How long before people come?” 

The Soldier doesn’t answer, but he takes his time finding his pants and pulling them on. Steve bites his tongue - the Soldier has had occasion to notice that underwear exists. Evidently, he’s decided that it’s not essential to his impersonation of a normal person.

And if he’s putting that on, it’s because he’s going to leave. “I owe you,” Steve tries again. “You got me off the helicarrier, pulled me out of the river.” When he woke up, when they asked him what he remembered of the battle, he said he’d got the job done. 

Bucky makes a face at him. Steve tries not to read anything into what the Soldier does, but there’s not much else it could be. Disgust, resignation, despair - one or all of those. “I know you did that,” he says. Because he does: he remembers being under the water, and deciding not to fight his way back up. “Let me help.”

The face settles into into a frown - and that’s when the windows implode in clouds of smoke and tear gas. 

Steve concentrates on disabling and disarming. He doesn’t have the shield, but he’s in a room full of heavy metal bars and discs: he makes do. He sees the Soldier flip a knife from one hand to the other before driving it through an armored panel, but mostly keeps track of Bucky by the noise. And when the sound of fighting stops, he gets over there as fast as he can. 

Two of them standing there. One says, "Kill -" and Steve doesn't let him finish. Slams the other one back against a bar.

“Bucky, get up. We need to go.”

Bucky's down, on his knees, empty handed. A bloodstained knife near his knee. 

He doesn’t move for it, and Steve realizes: he dropped it. One of them had said something, done something to him and he stopped fighting. "It's time to go," he says again, and the Soldier doesn't move. Hell. He goes back to the operatives. The Soldier had killed two; considering what they’ve done to him, Steve thinks that’s about fair. He ties the others to the gym equipment, and if they’re not out cold, he knocks them out. Then he walks back to Bucky, crouches in front of him. He doesn’t know what it’s going to take to get him moving again. 

The Soldier stares through him. Waiting for the rest of the order. This is the first thing they must have done to Bucky when they got him back - broke him to obedience, before turning him into the perfect weapon.

Steve raises his hand to Bucky's face. "Stand down, Buck, it's over. I promise, it's over." He touches Bucky’s face, rubs at his cheekbone. “Whatever they told you, it’s not gonna happen again. You want me to kill the rest of them, say the word.” 

It feels like an age before Bucky tilts his head into Steve’s hand, and then Steve can pull him into an embrace, Bucky’s head pressed into his shoulder. Bucky even wraps an arm around him. 

And then he pushes back. Stands in one swift movement, looking down at Steve. "I am not him. Not your Bucky Barnes. Stop following me." Bucky's voice isn't rough from disuse, the way Steve imagined. But he doesn't sound like himself, either - there’s a Russian accent he didn’t have before, or even in D.C.

"Don’t. Bucky."

The Winter Soldier walks away.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad puns, incidental property damage, and something of a happy ending.

Steve registers thunder, the edge of the shield under his fingertips, and that he’s not alone in the room.

The next lightning strike, he sees the man sitting by the window.

Steve lets the shield fall back against the wall, and flips the bedside light on.

“You could have knocked.” The Winter Soldier looks at him, expressionless. “You told me to fuck off, you can’t just. . .” Steve gives up mid-sentence. “I’m glad you came.” There’s a gun on the table beside the chair where the Soldier sits, arms on armrests. Posed. Both the Soldier and the gun are posed, waiting for him to wake up and notice. Steve brings the shield over with him.

When he picks up the gun, the Soldier’s eyes slide away to look at nothing. The weapon isn’t anything special that Steve can tell. Walther, loaded. Steve sets it down again.

Sits on the chair’s footstool in front of the Soldier, rather than pull a chair up or retreat to the bed. 

He’s wearing the same gear as the men who attacked them - black, no insignia. The left arm’s been ripped off at the shoulder seam. “Hope you didn’t get that in a recruiting office.” 

He’s been out in the storm. His hair’s wet, there’s water down his face that he hasn’t wiped off. Another reminder - if Steve needed one - that he can’t expect the Winter Soldier to react like a normal person. Steve leans forward to wipe it off for him, and the Soldier doesn’t move. His skin is like ice. He’s not blue, not shivering. But that can mean hypothermia.

“How long were you out there?” No answer.

Steve isn’t sure how far whatever-this-is goes. Bucky’s clearly aware. He got himself here. But if he’s waiting for Steve to do the right thing, Steve wouldn’t know what that is. They made the Soldier do things, programmed him, and using that is the last thing Steve wants to do. But if Bucky can’t keep himself warm and dry, someone had better do it. 

“I’m glad you came,” he says again. “Just wish I knew what to do about it. Your bag’s in the closet, if that’s what you wanted.”

The Soldier had hidden it in one of the gym lockers. It didn’t have much - the Soldier’s armor, a few ration bars, money. A flyer for the Smithsonian exhibit of Captain America. Steve’s been carrying it around, expecting it would just disappear sometime when he was out of the room. He hasn’t let himself hope for more than that.

“What did you think of the exhibit? I don’t guess they had the suit back up yet. They were going to try to salvage it, they said. Said it was still good enough for a dummy.” Steve doesn’t pause for a response. “You know I stole the helmet the first time, too? The girls wore them in the show. So - I wanted something you’d recognize.” 

He does something wrong - can’t say what, maybe just too much talk. The Soldier ghosts past him, goes for his bag. He doesn’t run with it, though, drops it on the bed and opens it. He noticed the extra weight. Steve’s been adding things. Currency, energy bars. A few things he hopes Bucky might use - peanut butter. Extra socks. He hasn’t been able to do anything for Bucky since 1945, he might have gone a little overboard. 

The Soldier just stares down. Looks confused. He touches things, at random as far as Steve can tell.

“Is it not okay? You - if you don’t want them, you can take them out.” 

That doesn’t seem to help. The Soldier does take them out, sorts them neatly into two piles. Then repacks them in reverse order. “I don’t understand,” the Soldier says finally. “What is the mission?” 

“There’s no mission. I figured you could use them, that’s all.” And then it hits him: the Soldier doesn’t understand being _given_ things, except when there’s a mission. Doesn’t understand that it’s a gift. The Soldier’s waiting to be told what he needs supplies for.

Steve lets his breath out. He can’t be helping anything, getting angry. He wants to hit something, the Soldier’s likely to take that the wrong way. “I’m not mad at you, Buck. I’m going to run a bath. Come in when you’re ready.” 

It’s hard to turn his back and walk out of the room, knowing Bucky might take his things and run. Or go off on, god help him, a mission. The bathroom is ridiculous, what he gets for staying in a Stark-recommended hotel. There’s a shower and separate bathtub, oversized with a tiled ledge. He’s glad of it now. Steve makes himself concentrate on the water temperature, setting a towel and soap in reach. Bucky appears in the doorway, strips down without prompting, his gear a pile on the floor. 

Steve upends the empty trash can so he can sit next to the tub without hovering. He checks the water temperature every few minutes. The Soldier sits - not bolt upright, but bent forward, hair hiding his face. Steve sets out a comb, finds sweatpants and a t-shirt for Bucky. Not what’s in his bag, in case he does run. 

“Bad night,” Steve says. It’s an observation, not a question. The way he’d been sitting there, that made the hair on the back of Steve’s neck stand up. The way he shorted out over a few extra energy bars in his bag. He thought Steve was sending him out to do something, and Steve’s pretty sure he didn’t want to do it. Bad night. Maybe bad week.

“Okay. The things I put in the bag. That’s not for a mission. I’m not asking you to do anything. I want you to have what you need, that’s all it means. A gift.”

“Gift,” the Soldier echoes. “Das macht besser, wann Sie sprecht es nicht.” _It works better if you don’t speak about it._

Gift is _poison_ in German. Damn it to hell. “It’s - English, Buck, it means present.” _Das mas besser_ \- Bucky knows that, because he switched languages too. “You’re a jerk.” Steve makes to splash him, too, and Bucky catches his hand. Pulls.

Steve takes the invitation to move closer. The Soldier’s left arm settles at his waist as soon as he sits on the ledge. Steve doesn’t let himself startle. He can’t read Bucky’s face, beyond that Bucky’s looking at him. But it’s something. Almost possessive. 

Steve leans over - it’s a risk, if the Soldier thinks Steve’s trying to trap him - props himself on the far side of the tub, to try for a kiss. It’s another pleasant surprise, that it works. That the Soldier isn’t, apparently, in his usual hurry tonight.

The Soldier pulls back after a minute, and Steve keeps still. He might be deciding how much he really wants to do, in unfamiliar surroundings. Given whatever happened to him before he got here. 

Or, Steve realizes, he might giving Steve a good long chance to evaluate his situation. Which is: propped over a bathtub full of water with his arm around Bucky, Bucky’s arm around his waist. The Winter Soldier watching his face for - for the second he realizes it would only take one good pull to drop him into the water.

He might have imagined the curve of the Winter Soldier’s lips, right before does it. What’s certain is the mess, as another two hundred pounds of supersoldier overflows the bath. Steve laughs, grabs the Soldier with his now-free arm. “Jerk. You son of a bitch.” A second more deliberation and he pulls his legs into the tub too, straddles Bucky’s legs: let it be the Soldier’s problem that he’s wearing sweatpants.

“I want to see you.” He can imagine Bucky just fine, his smirk and the mischief dancing in his eyes, you oughta be more careful, Stevie. That’s not what’s really there. The Soldier lets him loose. The Soldier’s got none of that at all - backing up all the way to the end of the tub, hands moving back to the sides - Steve can tell just from that he’s thinking wrong.

There’s not room for the effect Steve wants, but he manages to splash the Soldier, full in the face. “Jerk,” he says, and that look of shock, maybe that’s Bucky’s. And he moves in before it can go away. Kisses him, warm. The sweatpants are a loss, there’s no easy way to work them off while he’s straddling Bucky’s lap. They’ve overflowed the tub too, sending water over the side with every move.

“You do what you want,” Steve says. He’s never thought he ought to say that before - the Soldier always does what he wants. And it’s always been a lot rougher and faster than this. He’s not sure he can hope that’s changing. “And if you don’t want -” Bucky does want. Steve grins when Bucky shuts him up. 

Steve leaves the bathroom and its small flood to find dry clothes. They’re over the hotel’s administrative offices, or less likely the kitchen. If it leaks downstairs, they’ll find it in the morning, and he’ll throw money at them to make the problem go away. It’s worth it, to give Bucky - the Soldier - 

Whatever he got from it. Warmth, the release of sex. Safety. Human contact. Humor, even. Had the Soldier worked with Germans, or was that joke seventy years stale? He can worry that over some other night, though.

Steve doesn’t eavesdrop on purpose, but from what little noise the Soldier does make in the bathroom, Steve knows he’s hung up the bulky armor to dry and used the clothes Steve laid out for him. Bare feet. The Soldier drifts out like a ghost, perfectly silent. Steve could draw him like that, with charcoal. The long hair he’s combed through with his fingers, smudges for eyes, the slight downward curve of mouth. He brushes past Steve without a glance, to turn off the bedside lights. And then it’s dark, and he’s still moving.

Steve doesn’t say any of the useful things he was planning to, about rest, about sleep, about sticking together. “So you do remember me.”

The Soldier closes the steps between them. Jabs him in the stomach, three places for where he’d shot Steve, fighting over Project Insight. Steve only has that part in bits and pieces. Worrying at the problem of getting them both off the failing helicarrier, with no parachutes and what he’d done to Bucky’s arm. Bucky yelling, pissed off. He can figure that’s what happened to his face. He’d _let go_ , let the shield drop and didn’t track where it went. Putting the whole mess in Bucky’s hands.

And Bucky had come through. “You saved my life. Try remembering that part.” 

But the Soldier’s past him again, back to the chair and the window.

“1945 was a long time ago, but Bucky -”

“Bullshit. _Bucky._ ” The Soldier reloads his gun. Fast, but not hurried. “You hate everything about this.” 

Steve does hate it - the godawful places the Soldier picks to turn up, how rushed and rough it was, how little chance he has of fixing anything. It’s a relief, to have it in words. And irritating as hell: it’s not like the Soldier is having the time of his life either. “So do you, pal. So you can quit being a jerk any time you want.” 

The Soldier sets the gun down again, on the table at the far side of the bed. He stops there, hand on the table. Steve can almost hear Bucky, ‘you gotta have this fight now?’ 

“I forgot,” the Soldier says, quiet enough to erase all but the slightest trace of emotion. “How fucking stubborn you are.”

Thank God. Bucky has more patience than anyone Steve knows, but didn’t ever hold to a hopeless cause, except Steve Rogers. It’s worth it to get him talking. But it doesn’t feel good, to win out over Bucky. And he sounds tired.

“That’s right,” Steve agrees. “So come on, get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“I am not safe to stay. Talk won’t change that.”

Steve has to try to remember, they beat entire concepts out of Bucky’s head. Gifts. Sex. Friendship. Even safety, maybe. 

“You may not see what good talking does, but I’d like you to try.” A chance of doing something Steve will like, weighed against the danger the Soldier sees. Steve thinks there’s enough of Bucky in there to want to make Steve Rogers happy. 

“You won’t like what I have to say.”

“That’s alright. I’ve missed hearing your voice.”

Bucky throws himself on the bed with a huff. “In the morning. Before anything else.”

This win feels better than the last - Steve's wanted it too long to be anything but grateful. “Sure, Buck. Goodnight.”

The Soldier rolls to the edge of the bed, turns his back on Steve and lies perfectly still. But Steve can still feel the way the mattress bends differently under the extra weight, tension in the sheets that the Soldier didn’t bother to turn down. It’s enough for now.


End file.
